


your eyes, they shine so bright (i want to save that light)

by astralscrivener



Series: vld fic requests [13]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, M/M, Mentioned Adam (Voltron), Mentioned Shiro (Voltron), Mutual Pining, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: Keith’s hands hang down at his sides, fingers flexing as his muscles get tighter, and then—there. One finger curls in, then two.Lance starts opening the sunroof.There is nothing Lance won't do to keep Keith safe, including square off against a bunch of shadow...demon...things. (Maybe he still doesn't know quite what they are, but that's not the important thing here.)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: vld fic requests [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/891546
Comments: 24
Kudos: 138





	your eyes, they shine so bright (i want to save that light)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonpinez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonpinez/gifts).



> _title from DEMONS by IMAGINE DRAGONS because night visions slapped and this is the hill i will die on_
> 
> hello hello hello gang welcome back
> 
> if you're new here welcome
> 
> this is a commission i did for the lovely [ina](https://twitter.com/moonpinez) who requested a continuation of [day 6 of kl au month 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630867/chapters/41718692), aka supernatural day
> 
> if you've already read it but don't want to reread/don't want to read that first part, essentially it is a snapshot of a fuller au i planned and never wrote where shiro's been snatched by some shadow creatures bent on making keith's life hell, and they are deterred only by light. keith and lance have been seeing them since childhood, yada yada, mutually pining best friends, what more could you want
> 
> ina, thank u for commissioning me i would absolutely die for you
> 
> and as always thank you to my darling [nicole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeneevee/works) for beta'ing and generally. being there for me to fling ideas at u while i was stuck i love u
> 
> anygay let's get into it
> 
> **trigger warnings for blood and injury, motorcycle accident, partial nudity (don't sweat this one too much), uhh distressing scenes (if u scare easily then this might make u uneasy? i dunno :P) i think i've covered my bases.........?**

It’s unfair to say Lance isn’t a good student.

He tries, alright? He tries his hardest, especially when it matters the most (he’s not going to get into the Garrison Program at Arus U with a C+ in Calculus, he knows that and he’s _trying_ ), but some things just come more naturally than others. Some pique his interest, and some end up closer to his heart than he anticipates. Like the shadow creatures, for instance.

A couple weeks ago, he thought they were the hallucinations of a sleep-deprived teenager, or maybe imaginary friends from childhood that he never quite shook off.

Now, he knows better.

He’s done his research—talked to Keith, talked to Adam when Keith had his back turned, surfed the internet and read every blog he could find (some sketchier than others but no less informative), and he’s got his own experiences to draw on, too.

He has no conclusions about what these shadow people want, or what they’ve done with Shiro, or why they’ve come after Keith and his loved ones specifically, but he’s getting there. He—he can _feel it_ , feel that precipice waiting for him to take the dive into all the answers he’s seeking.

For now, though, he stays away from the edge, because Keith doesn’t want him there.

Keith—he has one answer regarding Keith, and it’s _how to get my best friend to go to sleep when these shadow demon things keep terrorizing him_. It’s an answer that makes his stomach flutter and his chest tighten, but it’s an _answer_.

Lance hasn’t slept in his own bed in almost two weeks because of it.

This is actually the first night he’s under his own roof after sundown, and the first night he’s not sleeping with Keith knocked out on his chest. No, tonight, there’s something else sitting there—a little bit of regret, and a lot of worry. Enough worry to make him turn on his phone’s ringer for the first time in about five hundred years, enough worry to keep his car keys within swiping distance, and enough worry to keep his shoes on his feet, even when he’s on his bed.

“Honestly, you should just go over there,” Lance groans to himself, shutting his textbook, pushing it to the side, and flopping back on his pillow, draping an arm over his forehead while he glances at his lock screen.

No texts. No calls.

_So text first._

He would rather hear Keith’s voice, but calls—calls seem more urgent. More desperate. Like _I don’t have time to type out a warning so let me just yell at you really fast._ The last time Keith called him, Lance had gone halfway down the stairs with his jacket only partially on before Keith reassured him everything was fine.

_So text him and ask him to call you, dummy._

He ends up not needing to.

Just when he gets his act together and reaches for his phone, the screen lights up with a FaceTime call, and lo and behold, Keith’s contact photo (the Mullet himself, laughing, sleep-deprived, 2 AM in the diner after a late rehearsal; it’s one of Lance’s favorite photos) greets him.

Lance almost drops his phone on his face in his rush to answer.

He opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but harsh breathing cuts him off.

_“Lance.”_ It’s Keith, out of breath, and he’s—running, running, definitely. The camera’s pointed…up. Front camera. Intermittently, street lights flash overhead before they’re gone again. Not—not shattered. Just out of range. Every so often, too, Lance will receive a blurry glimpse of Keith’s head, before it disappears out of sight.

“Keith, what—?”

_“I—I fucked up.”_

Keith’s voice comes strained. Behind the static of the call, between his panting, Lance hears him swear. Low but urgent.

“Where’s your bike? Where are _you?_ ”

Lance swings his legs over the bed and hits the floor. He grabs his keys. Grabs his jacket and merely tosses it over his shoulder. Dashes for the door.

_“It’s…”_ Keith draws in a shaking breath that tears Lance’s heart down the middle. _“Totaled. It’s—I crashed, I’m—”_

It’s Lance’s turn to swear.

_“I’m…I don’t…near the park, I think?”_

The park.

There are at least three Lance knows of on this side of town alone, assuming Keith _is_ on this side of town.

“Gonna have to be more specific,” he says, thundering down the stairs, and then calls over his shoulder to his mother, still sitting in the kitchen, “I’ll be back soon! Maybe!”

He doesn’t wait for an okay.

Lance nearly bodyslams the front door in his rush to get it open, and cool winter air bites at his skin, seeps in through his thin shirt.

_“Fuckin’…Gardenia Street, it’s Gardenia—SHIT—”_

There’s a series of loud sounds from Keith’s end. Heart in his throat, Lance watches the screen go through a blur of colors, pops and bursts of static. A distorted crack of rainbow shoots up the screen.

Then there’s a scream.

“ _Keith!_ ”

Lance can’t help the way his voice rises to a shout, and then he wastes no more time. He throws himself into his car, missing the ignition twice when he tries to jam his key into it.

“C’mon, c’ _mon_ …” Every second he spends trying to get his car started is another second lost. “ _Keith_ , are you—”

Before Lance can even finish, the FaceTime ends, and leaves Lance alone with a dark screen his own ragged breathing.

“No…no, no, nononononono…”

_Calm, gotta be calm, gotta be—oh, screw it._

The key finally slots into the ignition. Lance flicks his wrist, the engine rumbles, and the radio roars to life, blasting Top 40 hits at full volume while Lance tears out of the driveway. He all but punches one of the buttons overhead and floods his car with light, which makes it a bit of a bitch to see with the reflection bouncing off of the windshield, but at least it scares away the shadows.

Like the ones that hiss and dart out of sight of his rearview mirror.

“ _Yeah_ , that’s right,” Lance whispers it to himself, like maybe lowering his voice will trick his jackhammering heart into quieting, too. Like maybe that small trace of cockiness he allows himself will fool his brain into believing he’s braver than he feels.

This late at night, and in this quiet of a neighborhood with streets as narrow as they are, he should not be speeding the way he is. Any other day, there would be a certain fear in the back of his mind that someone will call the police on him for disruption of peace or speeding or _something_ , but right now, he’s up against things scarier than the cops, unbelievable as it sounds.

His car rushes past cozy little houses, Cape Cod styles and ranches and bungalows. Lights still strung up from the holidays glow and illuminate the toys strewn about front yards, the gardens wilted for the winter. All that peace and serenity, fenced in with wire links and wooden slats and evergreen hedges, with so many unsuspecting people, so many families unaware of the horrors beyond their front doors.

**_whyrushwhenthere’snothingleftforyoutofindlittleblue_**

Lance can’t crank the volume on the radio any louder, already maxed out and grating on his eardrums right along with the whispers.

_ Just gotta ignore them. _

Lance tightens his grip on the steering wheel and blows past a stop sign, and hopes there’s not a secret camera that captured the moment.

_You can worry about the possibility of a fine after you make it home alive with Keith._

Keith—Keith, the thought of him, keeps Lance going as he jerks the steering wheel hard right, and the tires screech against asphalt as he pulls a sharp turn into a street even tighter than the last. Lance has run down the middle of this street thousands of times over the course of his childhood, down to the dirt path worn out by the feet of trespassing children cutting through to get to the park.

Even from this distance, Lance’s headlights illuminate the hedges where the entrance to the path lies, and illuminate a figure, staggering, swaying on their feet, shadows dripping from their shoulders, wound around their legs, clinging to their arms and back as they shamble toward a patch of streetlight—

“ _KEITH!_ ”

Lance screams at the same time the light blows out, glass raining into the street. Keith tries his best to recoil as more shadows surge in, twine around his limbs and try to pull him back, away from Lance’s oncoming headlights—

—until Lance switches to his high beams.

**_foolyouthinkthiswilldoanythingforyouyouthinkyoucansaveyourdarlingyouthinkthiswillmakeanydifferenceintheend_ **

Lance grits his teeth, shoulders tensing, and slams the brake. The car jolts to a stop—Lance’s seatbelt cutting into his chest, his shoulder, nearly his neck—mere feet away from a shivering Keith, as the shadows retreat, still swirling in humanoid forms, growing in number.

Their blazing white eyes do not blink, but the smoke curls higher, thicker, angrier. The shadows close in around the beams of Lance’s headlights, surrounding the car, blocking off the doors. Lance can get out, and risk having the shadows steal his car, leaving himself and Keith defenseless, or Keith can try and run to the car and fight his way through the shadows to get to the door.

Through the windshield, Lance meets his eyes.

Without the shadows clinging to him, Keith looks a little more himself—no longer hunched in with limbs restrained and eyes vacant. Instead, his eyes are bright, if terrified, his muscles tight as coiled springs—ready, anticipating, calculating. That glimmer of his confidence and resilience helps to distract for a moment from the rest of him. His leather jacket and jeans are shredded all up the right side, and scrapes litter his palms and knees, and there’s a line of dirt alongside the deep cut in his cheek. Not to mention, his helmet is missing entirely.

Keith, dangerously disheveled but determined, flicks his eyes up not to the sky, but to the roof of Lance’s…ah.

Keith’s hands hang down at his sides, fingers flexing as his muscles get tighter, and then—there. One finger curls in, then two.

Lance starts opening the sunroof.

Three fingers down, and Keith bounces on the balls of his feet, ever-so-slightly. From his vantage point, he can probably just see the sun roof’s progress—almost to halfway.

Four fingers down, and Keith leans back—

—and five.

He runs.

This car is not Lance’s, technically. He and his twin sister share it, and he’s going to have to answer for it, if there are scratches and dents visible tomorrow, if there are Keith-sized footprints on the hood and the roof, if there are gouges dug by demonic claws on the doors and scratches scraping the windows.

Lance doesn’t think he’ll mind answering to that, not as Keith’s feet appear, dangling through the sunroof, and then his legs, and then the rest of him, clumsily climbing down into the front seat.

“ _CLOSE IT AND DRIVE!_ ” Keith yells before he’s all the way down, before Lance can get the chance to ask if he’s okay, ask what happened, ask what kind of attention he needs.

Lance obeys.

He punches the button for the sunroof and floors it, wheels squealing as he speeds off into the night, a thousand dissonant whispers shrieking in his ears.

**_youcan’tgetawayforeverwe’realwayswaitingalwayswatchingwhatislightwithoutshadowwhatislifewithoutdeath_ **

**_we’verippedthelaurelsfromthechampionandswallowedthelittlelion’sroarandnextwe’lldrainblueofallhiscolor—_ **

**_whydon’tyouwanttostayandplaywhenohthefunhasjustbegun_**

**_andwherewillyougofromthisisthereanywheretrulysafewhenwe’rereadyandwaitingallnightanddayweknoweveryplacetofindyouandinthoseplacesyou’llfindusisn’tthatnice_ **

The radio does nothing to drown out the taunting.

Lance hears the voices loud and clear, and when he cuts a glance at Keith—sunken into the passenger seat, unbuckled with his knees drawn up, gaze distant—he knows he can, too. His jaw’s set and his teeth are undoubtedly grinding, and there’s something glistening on his cheek.

Several moments later, Lance realizes Keith’s crying.

He redirects his attention to the road, but with the lights on, the sunroof closed, and the car locked…they’re relatively safe. _He’s_ relatively safe to slow down (a little, _only a little_ , he doesn’t need to know the outcome of slowing down too much), to take one hand off the wheel and set it down on the storage bin between the two seats, palm up, open, empty.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Keith’s head turn slightly. Sees his eyes flicker to Lance’s hand. Sees him hesitate, and then make his decision, releasing a quiet, unsteady breath as he presses his palm into Lance’s and laces their fingers together and squeezes. Gentle at first, and then ironclad.

Lance pretends not to notice when he ducks his head, and uses his free arm to bury his face.

**_isn’titfascinatingtowatchafiredie_**

The drive back to Keith’s house is shorter than normal with the way Lance is driving; he makes it in record time, and when they pull into the driveway, Lance turns off the radio. He cuts the engine but leaves the interior light on, while the exterior of his car is bathed in the glow of the floodlights at the front of the driveway. In the sudden silence, Keith’s erratic breathing is all the more pronounced, even if a bit muffled.

Lance turns toward him, and for a moment, can’t bring himself to say anything. In that moment, he watches Keith, hoping however thinly that maybe Keith will speak first. Willingly, no prying.

He doesn’t.

It is Keith and Lance, in a silent car, in a silent driveway, in a silent neighborhood.

It is Lance, staring at a dark tangle of hair and shoulders with muscles tight and knotted, wishing for nothing more than to reach out and touch, to stroke and massage and _reassure_.

It is Lance, finally squeezing back the hand in his, and eliciting the smallest of sobs from his best friend.

Keith swallows most of it back, and winces when that last shred escapes. He goes to curl in further on himself, but Lance squeezes his hand again, and this time, whispers, “Let’s go inside.”

Neither moves immediately. Keith drags in a long, shuddering breath and makes himself raise his head. Instead of even so much as glancing in Lance’s direction, his eyes settle on the white panels of the garage in front of them, heavy-lidded, spark gone, red-rimmed and puffy and glassy. Slowly, he loosens his grip on Lance’s hand, until he slips his fingers free entirely, and retracts his arm. Bunches further in on himself.

“…Thank you,” he says at last, voice hoarse, quiet. “I don’t know…” He purses lips, and then shakes his head, finally turning to meet Lance’s gaze. “I don’t know. Thank you.”

Lance reaches for him again anyway, and settles a warm hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s…I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

Keith’s lips part slightly, like he’s going to raise some protest, but Lance squeezes his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what the situation is when it comes to you. When I say no matter what, I mean it. Now c’mon, we need to get you cleaned up.”

Lance gestures to Keith’s injuries, his tattered clothing, (the tears on his face, the memories in his head). After a few seconds of staring, processing, face mostly void of every emotion except exhaustion, Keith gives in. He nods once, and Lance lets go of his shoulder so they can both get out of the car.

Keith takes his time. Unlike before, his movements are stiff, slow. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he moves one foot in front of the other, injured leg dragging behind him. Lance waits on his side of the car, and when Keith reaches him, he slips an arm around Keith’s waist, and then throws Keith’s arm over his shoulder.

Keith doesn’t say anything to that, but his muscles relax.

They make their way to the porch, lights bright against the night, and Lance wonders if they’ve been left on because Keith went out, or if they stay on all night now.

Either way, he’s grateful.

The door’s unlocked when Lance turns the knob and gently ushers Keith inside, but the living room is empty, and there’s no movement from the kitchen or the dining room either.

“Where’s Adam?” Lance asks.

“Asleep or doing work,” Keith manages, raising a hand to rub at his throat. “I don’t think he even knows I left.”

_And why_ did _you leave?_

The question jumps to Lance’s tongue, and he bites down on it. Instead of saying anything, he nods, and then starts with Keith toward the stairs. “Alright. C’mon, you’re gonna need a shower to clean most of this off before we can start patching you up. I don’t know if there’s much to be done for your jeans or your jacket, though.”

Keith’s shoulders rise and fall in a half-hearted shrug, as he and Lance head up the stairs, Lance still supporting half of his weight. “I own other jeans, and I guess…” His free hand wanders to the hem of his jacket and its torn brown leather, a hand-me-down from Adam last Christmas, now ruined. “There’ll be other jackets. I’m alive, and…that’s what matters.”

“Yep, that’s the most important thing,” Lance says, trying to make himself sound chipper after the night they’ve just had. “You’re alive, and we made it home in one piece.” They reach the top of the stairs, and Lance finally lets Keith go, carefully easing his arm off of his shoulders. “Now, you go get in the shower, and I’m gonna grab some pajamas for you. It’s probably easier to do all this in the bathroom, so we don’t end up washing blood out of your sheets.”

Lance winces immediately after he speaks—it’s hard to make a sentence like that sound any sort of upbeat.

Regardless, Keith nods anyway and ambles down the hall, while Lance heads for his room.

The door’s cracked when he gets there. Lance pushes it open carefully and pokes his head in, holding the first aid kit behind him, like he can use it as a surprise attack if need be.

The lights are on and the closet door is thrown wide open, but the curtains are closed. With the heat cranked for the winter, it’s stuffy, suffocating as Lance sets foot inside. He steps in a circle, sweeping every inch of the room, but all of them are lit and shadow-free.

None lurking at Keith’s desk, nor among the haphazard sheets on his bed. None waiting to spring at him from between the jackets or shoes in his closet.

Lance lets a quiet breath go and continues his business, as he makes his way to Keith’s dresser and rifles through the drawers until he finds something suitable. The heathen doesn’t own an actual set of pajamas (Lance will have to rectify that one of these days), but he’s got sweats and a t-shirt, and that’s good enough.

As an afterthought, Lance swipes a fresh pair of boxers and some socks (fuzzy, still in their packaging; Lance cannot fathom why Keith won’t pamper himself every once in a while).

He gets to the bathroom while Keith is still in the shower.

“I’m in here,” Lance announces over the running water, casting a glance at the stack of towels on the hamper near the shower. “I can leave if you want, and just come back when you’re ready. I brought clothes.”

There’s no response, save for the running water.

Lance sets the clothes down next to the towels, and the first aid kit next to the clothes, before he turns to the counter and starts clearing a space for Keith to sit down—he pushes aside a toothbrush holder and a tube of toothpaste, shoves the mouthwash into the corner next to the box of tissues, and then goes into the closet for another towel for Keith to sit on.

As he’s prepping the counter, he catches sight of himself in the mirror, and pauses. Frowns.

Blood stains his shirt and jacket.

It’s not a lot, being that all of it is from Keith’s injuries, but it’s still more than there was last time. Last time, there had been nothing—they’d had a close encounter, but ultimately came out of it unharmed. Injuries like these…the shadows are growing more restless. More persistent. More malicious.

And they’re targeting Keith.

It’s what Lance still can’t figure out, the missing link that will blow this whole thing wide open: what these things are and where they came from. He can’t figure out what they _want_ , and _why_ they’re after his best friend. Every time he tries, his chest gets tight and his breath comes shorter and he can only think the worst, and in his panic, his mind wanders and the thread is gone.

The sound of the water shutting off pulls Lance back out of his thoughts.

Keith’s head pokes out from behind the curtain, and he catches sight of Lance. For a moment he can only stare, and Lance can only stare back. Then Keith clears his throat and flicks his eyes to the shower curtain and back up.

“Right, right,” Lance says after a beat, heat rushing to his cheeks. “I’ll—I’ll be in the hallway.”

He ducks out for the two minutes it takes Keith to towel off and put on clothes. When Keith calls him back, he’s already seated on the counter, in a loose blue t-shirt and plaid boxers. With all of the grime and most of the initial blood washed away, his injuries become clearer, every cut and bruise more pronounced, the scrapes still raw and pink.

The worst of it is undoubtedly the long cut on Keith’s calf, and the deeper one on his cheek.

“This might need stitches,” Lance says, coming to stand between Keith’s legs, reaching out to cup his cheek and tracing over the cut with his thumb. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, we can probably get this fixed up at a walk-in. For now…” He drops his hand to reach for an antiseptic wipe and a gauze pad. “This is gonna sting a little.”

This time, he brings a hand to the other side of Keith’s face and cups his jaw, tilting his head back and to the side.

Under his touch, Keith’s skin is warm. He barely flinches as Lance begins cleaning his wound, only sucking in a small breath through his teeth and closing his eyes. After a moment, he seems to drop whatever tension he’s holding, lets his breath go, and leans into Lance’s palm with an exhaustion that runs bone-deep.

Lance’s heart squeezes.

“This might be a bad time,” he says slowly, “but do you wanna tell me what happened out there?”

Any semblance of peace vanishes, and Lance immediately regrets his question.

Keith works his jaw. Forces his eyes open. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, gaze distant, and Lance almost tells him to forget he said anything. But then—

“I thought I heard him. Shiro.”

His voice is heavy. Hoarse. Almost like the way it is when Keith gets sick, or when he first wakes up, but Lance knows better.

“It just…it _sounded_ so much _like him_. In _pain_. Something just…I don’t _know_ , something came over me and I…I had to go investigate.” His fingers flex again—he grabs his own wrist just to keep from digging his nails into the shredded heels of his hands, and Lance discovers he’s stopped cleaning Keith’s cheek to watch him. “By the time I realized what I was doing, I was halfway across town, and they were after me, so I just…”

Keith’s voice wobbles, and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Take your time,” Lance murmurs. He tries to resume his work, but can’t, not when Keith turns his head, grasps Lance’s wrist, and looks at him with wide eyes, shining with fresh, unshed tears.

“I went to you,” he croaks. “You were the first safe place I could think of. So I went to you.”

Lance isn’t sure what to say to that.

His mouth opens and closes as he tries and fails to muster up a response, because _what does he even say to that?_

Luckily, he doesn’t have to speak.

“And then,” Keith goes on, either oblivious to or ignoring the combustion happening in Lance’s chest and brain, “they caught up to me. They started—they started telling me they’d gotten to you, and Adam was next, and there was nothing I could do, and-and I got so distracted…I went off the road. Into a hedge row. I tried fleeing on foot, and they—they _took my bike_. Okay? It wasn’t totaled. They took it, and I called you but then they…they were on me in _seconds_.”

Keith’s hands tremble, grip on Lance’s wrist tightening. Lance sets his antiseptic wipe down to take Keith’s free hand into his own, running a thumb over his knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he says, while Keith fights to even out his breathing. “I got it, alright? You don’t have to keep going—”

“And then.” Keith says it firmly, albeit shakily. Though his eyes are down and a bit distant, Lance knows he’s still present from the way his fingers start to relax again. “They…it was so _hopeless_. They kept telling me to stop fighting back, because I couldn’t, and why should I, when they had everyone I loved? I…I started believing them, Lance. It was a losing battle, and then you showed up.” His voice gets quieter again. “You showed up, and you saved my life.”

At last, he raises his eyes, just in time for a tear to break free and streak down his cheek.

“You…I noticed it, the last time we ran into these things. They—they _paralyze me_. They crowd in and it’s all I can hear and it gets _so fucking dark_ , but you…you’re the sun, Lance. Every time I’ve been with you, you resist them. Without fail. You have this, this _inner light_ and…it’s so damn _bright_. It’s incredible. And it’s been there for _years_ and I…”

Keith’s breath catches. He stares unseeingly, and Lance knows the look. Keith wore it the day he told Lance about his mother’s disappearance, and the day he told Lance about his father’s death, and the day Adam and Shiro had their big fight, and the day Shiro went missing. There is something monumental sitting in his mind, and it’s about to come tumbling out of his mouth.

“I fell in love with it. With you,” Keith breathes out, another tear slipping down his cheek as he refocuses his gaze, pinning Lance in place. “And I almost…I don’t know, _I don’t know_ what they would have done, but if you hadn’t shown up, we wouldn’t be sitting here. So I needed to tell you, just in case I didn’t get another chance.”

He presses his mouth into a thin line, studying Lance like he’s searching for something deep within his soul, and before Lance can get his wits about him—can process what the _hell_ Keith’s just said to him, because he _really_ —he just— _now,_ of all times—the last bit of Keith’s spirit and strength leave him, and his shoulders sink. He releases his grip on Lance’s hand and wrist, hands settling in his lap where he casts his gaze.

“I just figured you deserved to know,” he adds in a whisper. “This wasn’t how I planned on telling you, but if I didn’t now…” He shakes his head, and he doesn’t finish his statement.

His words linger in the air between them, charged, thick.

It’s suffocating, different from the way Keith’s room was suffocating but unbearable all the same, because Lance can’t handle—he can’t handle Keith’s expression, can’t handle the way he trembles again but for an entirely different reason, can’t handle the way he looks almost _afraid_.

Afraid of _him_.

“Hey.” Lance brings his free hand up, cradling Keith’s jaw with both hands. He lifts Keith’s head so they’re eye-level, even if Keith stubbornly keeps his eyes glued to his lap. “Keith, look at me.”

For a moment, Keith resists. Lance watches Keith fight with himself as his brow furrows, and his lips move silently, and then at last he raises his head and meets Lance’s gaze again.

Every statement forming in Lance’s head dissolves.

Shame. Guilt. They’re both palpable in the look Keith turns on him, and something lodges in his throat.

_Say something,_ he thinks, like that will make a coherent sentence come faster.

“You really have to keep one-upping me,” he blurts, as if that makes things any better, and Keith’s fear melts into plain old confusion.

Lance keeps going.

“I was gonna do a whole big thing, maybe one day once the musical was over and we had our free time back, or maybe once this bullshit was all over...I was gonna make it special for you, and you just: _I fell in love with it. With you._ You think I was prepared for that? I’ve—I’ve been waiting for the right time, and the right place, and-and _making plans_ , and you—you impulsive little shit. I should’ve seen this coming.”

Lance laughs. It comes from a part of him fraying at the edges, exhausted and terrified and anxious. It comes from a part of him that wants nothing more than to see Keith smiling again, to see _his_ inner light, the one locked away and buried under layers of defenses and darkness. If the key to unlocking that is being honest—one hundred percent, with Keith, with himself—then Lance can be honest.

Even if that honesty feels like he’s ripping his heart out of his chest and putting it in Keith’s hands.

Keith, whose brows have drawn up, whose mouth curves down, who still hasn’t put the pieces together.

Or—maybe he has.

And maybe there’s a part of himself that won’t let him believe it, no matter how much he wants to.

“I love you,” Lance says, quieting down, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “Or, I’m—I’m _in love_ with you. Have been, for a while now. And I don’t…I don’t really care about not getting to tell you on a fancy date, or whatever. I just—it’s not important. The most important thing is you. And I’m not saying this to make you feel better, I’m not saying this because it’s been an emotional night; I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m in love with you, Keith.”

Silence follows. Lance listens to Keith breathe, as Keith’s hands slowly find their way to Lance’s hips. Then those hands on his hips become arms all the way around his middle, and Lance’s hands on Keith’s face become arms around his neck as Keith pulls him in until their bodies are flush.

Lance cradles the back of his head as he tucks it underneath his chin, threading fingers through Keith’s hair, scratching at his scalp. It’s still wet from the shower, and Keith must be getting cold. 

“C’mon,” Lance mumbles into his hair, “let’s get you as patched up as we can. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to a walk-in, and then we can figure things out from there.”

He plants a kiss on the top of Keith’s head before he can lose his nerve, and starts to pull back so he can finish his job when Keith holds onto him tighter.

“Just—give me a second,” he manages roughly, voice muffled with his face pressed to Lance’s chest.

Lance nods anyway and relaxes. “Take your time.”

He’ll have to call his mom later, and tell her he’s going to be at Keith’s again after all. He still has to finish bandaging the cut on Keith’s face, and hasn’t even started on the leg injury, nor his second check-up on the rest of him, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything else in the first go-around. He’s bringing Keith to a walk-in tomorrow, and then…the shadows.

They still need to be dealt with.

Lance’s eyes flicker to the mirror. His reflection, and the reflection of Keith’s back, stare back at him. He also gets a glimpse of the shower, and of the closet door, cracked open to reveal a sliver of darkness.

He doesn’t think he imagines the one white eye, watching him.

**_youcan’tsaveamanmarkedfordeathyoureffortsareinvainhewillperishsoonerratherthanlaterandyoucandonothingtostopit_ **

**_heliestoyouandyoulietohimanditwillonlybeamatteroftimebeforeyoufinallysee_**

_Wrong,_ Lance thinks, as if the shadows can hear him, tightening his arms around Keith. _You can fuck right on out of here with that, thank you._

The first time Keith and Lance sat down and really talked—that first bud that blossomed into friendship—was in the principal’s office. Keith punched out a kid for making fun of his being an orphan; when he left the room, the kid bragged about how he’d _won_ since he hadn’t gotten in trouble because Keith swung first, and Lance unleashed upon him a torrent of words unsuited for a child’s ears, much less their mouth. Ten minutes later, on that big blue bench in the office, side-by-side with Keith, Lance had vowed to protect him.

Thirteen years later, that hasn’t changed. Maybe the situation has changed, from schoolyard bullies to otherworldly demons of sorts, but Lance’s promise and devotion haven’t.

**_wejustwanttohelpyouhewillonlybeyourdownfallintheend_**

Lance glares right back at the shadow.

_Then let him._

**Author's Note:**

> :^)
> 
> well that's that
> 
> thank y'all for reading, and ina, thank u again!!!
> 
> if u would like ur own snazzy commission, find out how to do that with [this here tweet](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1206734106840772608)
> 
> see u in the next one!!
> 
> and, as always:  
> [my fix-it fic (s4-8 rewrite)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441) || [my other fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/works) || [nicole's fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeneevee/works) || [my twitter](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener) || [nicole's twitter](https://twitter.com/queen__eevee)


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